3 Poems

If I’m lucky, it’s a slow death

Inspiration is a fiery, muscular athlete

Running through my mind

Inspiration gives me power, vitality, motivation and perspiration

It sets me off into frenzy

The small Olympian taunts, pokes and provokes me

I keep him on a short leash

I am faster than my own inspiration

But he would out run me

If I didn’t maintain a watchful eye on him

Inspiration is my alter ego

I want this poem to inspire

To form tracks in your head,

To pinch your inner neurons

And seep out through your ears

Inspiration is a sprinter

He has short spurts of energy

His energy is synonymous with burning internal heat

When my body gets hot with ambition

It becomes a rocky cliff

The shudder of my broiling brain 

Causes an avalanche through my torso

My throat is a dry, cracked canyon

Without water for miles away

Until reaching a watering hole in the distance

My inspiration never reaches the water

When I love the dark room

My inspiration takes ten minutes of recovery,

Flops onto the pages of my notebook

Has a heart attack

And dies.

Women are aware. Girls are bare.

I am not afraid to be beautiful

My over compensating smiles

And thick eyeliner shows my attempts

My body tells a tragic story

But my personality salvages some potential

I am a punching bag

I am the gun powder that

Pushes the bullet out of the old fashioned hand gun

But when the 12 mm tries to leave the barrel

It backfires

And the shooters face turns into a bloody pulp

A mess of falling fake eye lashes and smudged rouge lipstick

Coated in corn syrup

The scars of aggression stain my neck and lower back

When I clogged the toilet

She bashed my ears into my brain

Leaving craters in the sides of my head

She beat me with a bag of serial killer, rapist words

Which are worst then getting stabbed

Because wounds heal

And can be forgotten

But I still remember her banging on my bedroom door

And knife cutting through the lock

Leaving her out of my personal space was a VIP invitation in her eyes

She is the worst mother when I am rude and stroppy

And a good mother when I am nice

I am not afraid to be charming, I resent this accusation

Her sick projection is like throwing a

Sheet over an ugly sofa to mask the cheap, moth eaten, polyester upholstery,

I am the worst daughter when my jeans cut the circulation around my mid section but a lovely daughter when I love myself

I punish others when I punish myself

Which only leaves me in a regretful puddle

Soaking into my couch

For my dog to sniff briefly then ignore because it doesn’t smell like bacon

Telescope Vision

When I said, “Yes, I am a feminist”

Small-minded boys laughed in my face

And girls obsessed with snap chat didn’t even look up

I had to resist the redness in my cheeks

It is wrong to ignore stupidity

But it is silly to be embarrassed by their ignorance

I didn’t want to hide my opinions

Because hiding might as well be apologizing

And why say sorry if it didn’t mean shit to me weather they heard me or not

When they called me a femm-nazi,

It solidified that boys think women who want gender equality hate men!

I want to squash this concept like a hot cigarette with sparks flying around my ankles

I want to see the day when being passionate doesn’t make you a psychopathic killer

The Nazis murdered 6,000 Jews

Feminists have only bandaged the wounds of young girls who were told they have no sense of direction

Unfortunately, I did care

That these boys called me a fem-Nazi

Their Facebook posts, likes and emojis

Scared me from opening my laptop

But they were only scared on the inside

Unconsciously

Because there is fear in feminism

And I want to make it known to people

Beyond room 103 at Drew School